Whiteout - Ken Follett [110]
Olga ignored him. “Well?” she said to Daisy. “Haven’t you got anything to say for yourself?”
Daisy picked up her gloves. For some reason, Miranda found that ominous. Daisy put the gloves on then said, “I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“I think you do.” Olga looked back at Nigel. “You’re three complete strangers, sitting in my father’s kitchen filling yourselves with his food, and the story you tell is highly implausible. I think you need to explain yourselves.”
Kit said anxiously, “Olga, is this really necessary? They’re just people who got stranded—”
“Are you sure?” she said. She turned her gaze back to Nigel.
Nigel had seemed relaxed, but now anger showed as he said, “I don’t like being interrogated.”
“If you don’t like it, you can leave,” Olga said. “But if you want to stay in my father’s house, you need to tell a better story than this farrago.”
“We can’t leave,” Elton said indignantly. “Look out the window, it’s a fucking blizzard.”
“Please don’t use that word in this house. My mother always forbade obscenities, except in foreign languages, and we’ve kept her rule since her death.” Olga reached for the coffeepot, then pointed to the burgundy briefcase on the table. “What’s this?”
“It’s mine,” Nigel said.
“Well, we don’t keep luggage on the table.” She reached out and picked it up. “Not much in it—ow!” She yelled because Nigel had grabbed her arm. “That hurts!” she cried.
Nigel’s mask of urbanity had gone. He spoke quietly but distinctly. “Put the case down. Now.”
Stanley appeared beside Miranda in a coat, gloves, and boots. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said to Nigel. “Take your hands off my daughter!”
Nellie barked loudly. With a quick movement, Elton reached down and grabbed the dog’s collar.
Olga stubbornly kept hold of the briefcase.
Kit said, “Put the case down, Olga.”
Daisy grabbed the case. Olga tried to keep hold of it, and somehow the case flew open. Polystyrene packing chips scattered all over the kitchen table. Kit gave a shout of fear, and Miranda wondered momentarily what he was so frightened of. Out of the case fell a perfume bottle in two Ziploc bags.
With her free hand, Olga slapped Nigel’s face.
Nigel slapped her back. Everyone shouted at once. Stanley gave a grunt of rage, pushed past Miranda, and strode toward Nigel. Miranda shouted: “No—”
Daisy stood in Stanley’s way. He tried to push her aside. There was a blur of movement, and Stanley cried out and fell back, bleeding from his mouth.
Then, suddenly, both Nigel and Daisy were holding guns.
Everyone went quiet except Nellie, who was barking frantically. Elton twisted her collar, throttling her, until she shut up. The room was silent.
Olga said, “Who the hell are you people?”
Stanley looked at the perfume spray on the table and said fearfully, “Why is that bottle double-bagged?”
Miranda slipped out through the door.
5:45 A.M.
KIT stared in fear at the Diablerie bottle on the kitchen table. But the glass had not smashed; the top had not fallen off; the double plastic bags had stayed intact. The lethal fluid remained safely inside its fragile container.
But now that Nigel and Daisy had pulled guns, they could no longer pretend to be innocent victims of the storm. As soon as the news from the laboratory got out, they would be connected with the theft of the virus.
Nigel, Daisy, and Elton might escape, but Kit was in a different position. There was no doubt who he was. Even if he escaped today, he would be a fugitive from justice for the rest of his life.
He thought furiously, trying to devise a way out.
Then, as everyone stood frozen, staring at the vicious little dark gray pistols, Nigel moved his gun a fraction of an inch, mistrustfully pointing it at Kit, and Kit was seized by inspiration.
There was still no reason why the family should suspect him, he realized. He might have been deceived by the three fugitives. His story that they were total strangers still stood up.
But how could he make